


Side Pot

by volcanicpanic



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, its a vegas au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29442879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volcanicpanic/pseuds/volcanicpanic
Summary: Ross suspects that somebody's exploiting a weakness in his slot machines. He sends Mello out to Vegas to figure things out.The work is tedious but at least he finds a cute boy to pass the time with while he's there. It's almost like a vacation.
Relationships: Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl
Kudos: 4





	Side Pot

The Vegas Strip introduced itself as a cesspool. A Nevadan oasis marked by retina singing lights, oppressive heat, and smog so thick you could drown in it. The streets: an endless crawl of cars lined with sidewalks that crept even slower, clogged with fat midwesterners and women more parts silicone than meat. Where LA wore a mask, Vegas was a mirror. Maybe that’s why Mello liked it so much. 

After months of being holed up in different pay-by-the-hour motels and strangers’ basements, it was nice to be sent somewhere where accommodations were already made. Good ones, too. Ross was more connected than he thought, setting him up with what Mello had to assume was one of the more expensive views of the city. Mello had initially thought he had gotten a handle of his boss’ assets, but from the sound of his call earlier he had a decent portion of the strip under his thumb as well. 

Ross played his cards close to his chest, and Mello liked that in a boss. He’d put in too much time, clawed out too much purchase, to suffer fools. His ambition made weaker bosses anxious to put him in his place, but Ross was smarter than that. Ross would get as much mileage as he could out of the rookie before Mello inevitably shot off towards his next move. They both understood this. Mello was, for the most part, kept in the dark to his big pictures. Mello would never give his complete loyalty and Ross, no idiot, wouldn’t pave a clear path to his usurping. 

Having driven most of the night, he was too exhausted to make anything of the new information. Instead, he drops his duffel and helmet on the cool tile floor, peels out of his biking leathers, and draws a hot bath. It feels good to scratch the dirt and sweat from his scalp while the ache in his shoulders dissipates. He’s too young to be too old for this shit. 

The bath feels nice though. He’s been trying to make note of the nice things in his life, so that when next he balances his life decisions on scales the good stuff has a little bit of an advantage. He too often neglects the finer things. The linear progress and clear path that comes from overworking can keep Mello out of his head for months before he needs to come up for air. 

Mello rinses off and drains the tub. The sun was just beginning to rise and there’s hours of reviewing spreadsheets and security footage to look forward to.

A few of Ross’ slot machines had been acting up, profiting a smaller proportion than they were programmed to. Why Ross chose Mello to figure out why was anybody’s guess. He could do good investigative work, but this was completely different than being given a name and told to find them. The line between randomly generated generosity and manipulated charity was exhaustingly thin and Mello hated dealing with gray areas. He wanted problems with correct answers. 

He opens the packaging for a laptop he had bought when he got to town and begins setting it up, mood already soured knowing he’ll have to dispose of the thing when the job is done. It was a nicer computer than he usually sprung for.

He chose the hotel he was staying at, Goose Egg, as the first casino to sift through. It was as good a starting place as any and by default the most familiar of Ross’ Vegas establishments. 

It took longer than he would’ve liked to define “unusual” in the machine payout data, but soon the computer produces a steady whir as it sorts through Mello’s parameters. By early afternoon he’s finally able to leave the computer to it’s work and go to bed.

The chime of his computer wakes him up later that evening and It’s immediately obvious that he casted too wide a net. If a computer could’ve found it, Ross wouldn't've sent him out here. Fine, whatever. He’d find another angle. 

Mello digs in his duffel for chocolate and settles back into bed, hunched over the laptop. He would go through camera feeds later, but if he could narrow things down he could probably shave a few days off the chore. If someones exploiting the machines, they’re probably driving out of here with the cash. And if they're stupid enough to scam mob affiliated casinos, he hopes they're also stupid enough to use their parking garages. 

He shoots off an email and shuts the laptop. Once he has some plate data it’d just be a matter of putting trackers on a handful of cars. Until then, he’s earned himself a trip to the hotel bar. If he was gonna binge watch floor footage, he sure as hell wouldn’t be doing it sober.

Mello is halfway through his drink and texting out a report to Ross when a man taps him on the shoulder. 

“Anyone sitting here?”

Mello shakes his head no, barely glancing up. The stranger starts chatting with the bartender in an awkward half yell to be heard over the din of their surroundings. 

“Any specials for people with rotten luck?”

“Never are, Matty.”

“Favorite customers discount?” He asks, not waiting for a response. “Come back to me then, I need a sec to count my tips.”

The bartender chuckles and moves on to someone else.

“What about you? How’s your luck tonight?”

It took Mello a minute to register that the stranger was talking to him. 

“I haven’t been testing it.”

“Good on you. Moving here’s the worst thing to ever happen to me,” he chuckled, “Work all day, lose it all night.”

“You’re not supposed to shit where you eat.”

The stranger responds with a bark of a laugh and orders a drink with his freshly uncrumpled cash. He’s plain looking, small town attractive, wearing a jacket over some uniform polo shirt. When he smiles his whole face scrunches up. 

“Aren’t you doing the same? I didn’t pin you as a tourist.”

Mello raises his eyebrows.

“I mean. Usually the people who drink at the hotel aren’t. Like they’re not there to see the sights, ya know? And your outfit is like not especially uh. Well not in a judgy way, I actually think you look cool but-”

“Guilty,” He stops him, both hands in the air in mock resignation.

He grins and takes a drink. The stranger, Matt he finally mentions, is pretty chatty. Comes here because they always stream poker games on the TVs when he gets off work. He talks about the players like he knows them. Does all this math in his head and narrates what each player should do. Gets annoyed when they do something else. Cool party trick. Mello wonders if he does this to everyone or just people he wants to hit on. 

It’s pretty fun to watch, admittedly. Mello’s never really been much of a poker guy. Likes the calculation of it, likes the mind games, but also hates the mind games. He’s big enough to admit he takes that shit a little personal. 

He zones out somewhere between an exciting hand and a tangentially related anecdote about a poker champion who went an entire tournament without looking at her cards. Matt talks with his hands a lot. From the bottom of Mello’s glass his hands look like manic birds flying around his face. 

Somehow Matt’s convinced him to drink every time he calls something correctly. He himself drinks when he gets something wrong. He’s got the numbers on his side but flubs a lot when it comes to guessing what the players will do with them. It’s amusing for a while but Mello keeps falling behind, watching Matt closer than the TVs, and taking his word for it when it’s his turn to drink. 

When Matt asks if he smokes Mello nods. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't entirely truthful either. It’d been a while. Right now though, a cigarette sounded pretty good.

They settle their tab and step outside. The air is cool but the ground still radiates heat from the day and Mello feels perfectly content, a little warm from the buzz he has going and a little warm from the pretty boy he’s hanging out with. 

Away from the entrance they sit at the edge of a fountain. While Matt tries to light a cig with his near-empty lighter, Mello enjoys the way his hair frizz catches the city lights like a technicolor halo. Internally Mello upgrades him beyond small town attractive. He’s not LA hot but LA hot has its own host of issues. It’s never really been his taste anyway. 

He's still staring when Matt looks back to him, offers the cigarette. Mello accepts it and takes a long drag. Smoke escapes him as a satisfied sigh. 

Matt’s talking about cars. He has his phone out for supplementary photos, zooming in on arbitrary shit like the wheel wells. Most of the pictures are just of the cars themselves, but as he swipes a few feature Matt in the driver’s seat hamming for the camera. Mello snorts and zooms in on his face. Matt indignantly locks the phone. 

“You were supposed to be looking at the scissor doors dude.”

Mello hums a chuckle and hands back the cigarette. Across the street there’s a commotion and a bachelorette vomits on the sidewalk. Her friends get her cleaned up and back on her feet with the impressive efficiency of a pit crew. Matt’s lips are parted like he’s trying to think of something funny to say, and Mello takes the opportunity to kiss him.

He’s feeling strangely giddy. 

Mello finds himself resting his cheek on Matt’s bony shoulder, listening to the rhythmic flow of the fountain display. He’d been so fucking tired. It was nice to just relax. Nice to stop holding his breath for just a minute. Matt jokes about being too boring for him and Mello chuckles against his neck.

He’s talking about some coworker who wrecked a car on the job and skipped town. He’s trying to at least; Mello’s not being the most attentive listener, choosing to instead press his lips at Matt’ jaw below the ear. He’s a valet or something. It's a long rambling story with a punchline that ends with Matt owing car money to the mafia. Mello gives a disbelieving "Mhm," and Matt pulls away, looking offended.

"No, I'm serious dude! Real Vegas shit."

"Sure, sure, I believe you."

"No you don't. You're gonna be so bummed when I get curb stomped I can already tell."

Matt's halfway through dictating the funerary arrangements he wants when Mellos phone rings. He looks at Matt apologetically and stands stepping away before answering. It’s one of Ross’ guys, somebody he doesn’t recognize, letting him know a drive of parking garage footage has been left at the front desk for him. He had been hoping the parking garage logged plates as a part of payment, but no dice. Poorly timed and unhelpful. Now he'll never know if Matt wants an open casket.

When he walks back to the fountain Matt’s standing.

“Work?”

Mello must’ve looked surprised and Matt shrugs in response.

“No poker face. Besides, who else would you answer the phone for?”

“You should have a show on the strip. You’re heading out?”

“Yeah. I’m not good to drive and the last bus is in a half hour.” He holds his phone up with the bus schedule as if he needs proof.

“You could stay here for the night,” Mello suggests, gesturing to the hotel. 

“Or I could do that, yeah,” he agrees, putting his phone away.

**Author's Note:**

> honey its 2021 time for your yearly matt and mello fic
> 
> this will either be 3 or 4 chapters its mostly written


End file.
